


I'm sorry

by Raspberries_Heartbeat



Series: Insights in the domestic life of the 221B Baker Street family [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angry John, Arguing, Emotional Sherlock, Fluff, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Greg Lestrade & Sherlock Holmes Friendship, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, John forgives, John was a bit not good, Lestrade to the Rescue, Love Confessions, Loving John Watson, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Possible Mystrade, Reichenbach Feels, Sherlock Apologizes, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings, Sherlock fucking loves bees, all the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 20:48:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11952354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raspberries_Heartbeat/pseuds/Raspberries_Heartbeat
Summary: Lestrade had told him countless times. John had told him countless times plus ten. Sherlock apologized half-heartedly every single time and promised to be more careful next time. He never was.---Sherlock gets himself in danger. John is angry. Sherlock says something stupid. Greg is a great friend. They work it out.---Characters are not mine





	I'm sorry

It wasn’t the first time Sherlock ran off during a chase. It wasn’t the first time, despite vehement lectures and pleas to be cautious for once, that John found himself loosing track of a poorly armed detective wildly running after a serial killer/murderer/robber/general criminal scum. It wasn’t the first time the man seemed to ignore everything John valued (‘It’s about trust, Sherlock, damn it, stuff like this is dangerous as shit. There is a reason I come along!’) and left him behind without a second thought.  
Lestrade had told him countless times. John had told him countless times plus ten. Sherlock apologized half-heartedly every single time and promised to be more careful next time. He never was.  
The moment the doctor realized Sherlock had taken off alone once again always evoked the same emotions in his system. First came the shock. Then came the helplessness. Followed by anger. Finally: cold, terrifying, crippling panic. It was always like that.  
John had been stupid enough to believe their romantic entanglement would change the tables. He actually believed that Sherlock would consider his feelings (or anything expect for the suspect for that matter) before he dived head first into careless dangerous situations. They talked about it. John promised Sherlock he wouldn’t have to change for them to work out. Always the consulting detective first, the partner and parent second. BUT he had hoped. He had hoped Sherlock would see. He had hoped Sherlock would understand. They were raising a child together. There was so much to lose. Something worth being careful about, something worth to not carelessly play with your own life. He had hoped and he had been proven wrong.

He was quiet the whole drive back to the yard. Sherlock caught the suspect, of course. Unfortunately, said suspect was armed and not very happy with the change of events, so Lestrade and his team arrived just on time to keep the man from stabbing the arrogant, unarmed so-called genius right in his arrogant, unprotected gut. Sherlock, of fucking course, seemed oblivious to John’s sour mood. He actually had the indecency to bicker the whole way about the “unnecessary interruption”, for he, the great wonderful all-knowing Sherlock fucking Holmes had everything under fucking control. Control, the only thing holding a very angry army doctor back of slapping this insufferable asshole next to him, partner or not. John Watson was a patient man. Sherlock Holmes was extraordinarily good in wearing this patience thin.

  
They made their statements, with Sherlock boasting all over the place about his intellect and the incompetence of everyone else on the planet, including is eerily silent blogger/significant other of some months. Lestrade sensed the tension surrounding the ex-army doctor, but he couldn’t really blame the man; he himself was close to slapping that arrogant sneer of the consulting detectives face. Just as he was about to start with his ‘Sherlock, we don’t run off on our own when we are not armed’-lecture when the younger detective gave him a dismissive wave.  
“Can we cut this short, Graham? I apologize if it puts you all at ease, and if you excuse us now, we’ll be off to-“  
“Hold ON a moment there” It wasn’t so much the suddenness of the exclamation, but rather the tone with which it was uttered that startled all the Yarders (Anderson, Donovan and Lestrade)in the room, as well as the world’s only consulting detective. John Watson - good-natured mate, gentle doctor, competent criminal catcher, extraordinary blogger, loving parent – had another side hidden within himself, a side which he chooses to keep hidden on a daily basis. This side had not much in common with the John Watson people knew, minus the name. No, this John was Captain Watson – a man who deserved great authority, a soldier who did not hesitate to kill, a man that could be frightening if he wasn’t met with the respect he deserved. Sherlock had heard the Captain’s voice before; it was proven one of John’s most useful skills when catching criminals. There was something about this voice which made it very hard to disobey. John addressed him with this voice on some dreadful moments in their lives; moments filled with violence and grief and death and frustration. This voice hurt Sherlock more than any of the few punches the doctor had given him. John had never used it on him again after they became a couple.  
“Do you actually listen to yourself from time to time or do you just enjoy hearing yourself talk?” Now, although John was… to say the least… intimidating like this, Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t just stand there and let himself be degraded out of unknown reasons. He straightened his spine (John was intimidating like that, after all) and put on his famous cold expression. “Excuse me?”  
“Don’t play daft on me now, Sherlock” Lestrade, not very keen on having a domestic taken place over his worktable, urged, gently but persistently, for them to maybe take this home to discuss. Sherlock dismissed him with another one of those damn condescending waves.  
“You’re clearly upset, John, do calm down”  
“What a fantastic deduction, you clever genius!” Sherlock flinched, feeling an unexpected pang of hurt, hearing the usually well-meant words of praise in such a sharp tone.

 

Lestrade sighed, knowing then and there he had lost the battle, and did the least he could do: Pushing the very noisy and very interested Donovan and Anderson out of the room, before closing the door quietly behind himself. The voices behind the wood became louder and could still be heard clearly in the hallway. “I tried” Lestrade mumbled to himself, feeling like a right idiot for having himself thrown out of his very own office.

 

“I don’t believe this is the right tone to address your significant other-“  
“Really, Sherlock?” John let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re seriously trying to tell me about relationship conventions? You, of all people?” Sherlock, to his own horror, found himself helplessly overwhelmed with the amount of negative emotions directed his way. He hadn’t done anything wrong, after all! He caught the killer! He apologized! What did it matter if he meant it or not?! “John-“ he started cautiously, not desiring to anger the man more than he apparently had; but at the same time he was getting slowly fed up with the way the doctor was treating him.  
“No, Sherlock. Now you listen to ME!” The younger man pressed his lips in a thin line. He’d rather die than admit it, but he dreaded the feeling of John’s anger. It made him strangely…. Anxious? He couldn’t remember being anxious since he had been a child.  
“What the fuck was that? Why the fuck did you run off again? Why, for the love of fucking GOD, can’t you stop throwing yourself in the position of almost getting killed?!”  
Fine, then, if John decided to treat him like a child, then he would respond to the situation like a child. So, Sherlock did was he could do best. Snap icily. “There was nothing to worry about, I was doing just fine” John fixated him with an unbelieving expression and for the split of a second Sherlock actually believed the doctor would come over and slap him across the face.  
“Really, Sherlock? Really? Fine. You were doing fucking fine…” He took a deep breath, willing his temper to calm down the slightest bit. Screaming at the younger man wouldn’t change a thing. John had the habit of getting loud rather quickly, Sherlock was used to this vocal outburst of tempter. John wanted to give him something he wasn’t ready for, something to get through his thick scull. When the blogger spoke again, his voice was quiet, but deadly. An involuntary shiver ripped through Sherlock’s body.  
“He was about to stab you, you mad man. What the fuck were you thinking, Sherlock?” The doctor’s stormy eyes fixated Sherlock in a steady gaze. Sherlock had trouble holding it. The emotions in this one single glance (anger, frustration, sadness) made his heart clench painfully. But he tried to play it off, being the stubborn man, he was.  
“I don’t really get why you’re so upset this all of a sudden. It hasn’t been the first time-“  
“I am AWARE” the doctor snapped right back. “But” John closed his eyes. Inhaled. Exhaled. His hands were trembling. “I thought this” – he mentioned between them – “would be enough to punch some sense in you”  
“John, I told you I would not change-“  
“I KNOW, Sherlock. I’m not talking about giving up The Work. I know The Work is everything, but… there is a difference, don’t you understand? Fighting crimes can be dangerous, that’s part of the deal. But,… but carelessly running off to play the hero? That’s just….” He exhaled again, shaky. “I’ve been to your funeral once, I don’t intent to go to another one anytime soon”  
So it was about the Fall. Everything… every little thing had to be about the bloody fall. Sherlock had apologized. But Sherlock had also saved John. He did it all for the doctor, but he didn’t seem to get it! (That wasn’t true. Of course, he got it. There was scarcely a day where John didn’t show his partner how grateful he was for his sacrifices. But Sherlock was angry… John was angry at him and he didn’t do anything wrong!) Sherlock opened his mouth, but John wasn’t done yet.  
“We’re a family now, for fuck’s sake. Rosie needs you, damn it, I need you”  
“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic, I was fine” “How can you be so fucking oblivious about the whole thing?!” Now he was screaming again. He didn’t want to scream. But Sherlock as pushing his buttons, he was pushing them so damn well. “All I’m asking you for is to be careful. For me. For us. Isn’t that enough?!”  
“John, I advise you, do calm down-“  
“Do you even think about me when you do stuff like this? When you say the things you say? I am the one who always gets bruised and left behind; how do you fucking think I would cope if I lost you again?!”  
If there was one thing to know about Sherlock Holmes, it was that he really wasn’t the type to stand around and let himself be accused of hypothetical risks that did not occur. There was another thing to know about Sherlock Holmes, tho. He was a fucking idiot when it came to feelings. Sure, he was getting pretty good with showing affection towards his little family and did a splendid job when coping with John’s insecurities. But still. Quintessentially an idiot. He was that much of an idiot, that he didn’t even realize how hurtful the things were that he could say.  
“Why don’t you do it like last time, find yourself someone else that you can marry!”  
John was patient with Sherlock’s struggles with coping with sentiment. It was fine, most of the time, really. He enjoyed watching him learn. He could ignore a harsh word or two, spoken without thinking about the emotional consequences. But not today. John felt like the air was forcefully knocked out of his lungs.  
After Sherlock had returned, they had talked. Sherlock had told him everything he needed to know, from the snipers to the torture in Serbia. He had told him everything and John had cried and thanked him for everything he had done. He had taken him to bed and worshipped every single scar on his back, slowly and sensually taking him apart and lovingly sewing him back together again, until Sherlock felt nothing more but fuzzy warmth and a deep happiness. On the other hand, John hadn’t told him anything. And after all the harrowing things happening in the aquarium and with Eurus, Sherlock had never asked. It was simply a thing they did not talk about. Sherlock supposed John got over him quickly, after all he found himself a woman and got attached enough to marry her in around two years. Only John knew how very wrong he was.  
So now, when he stood there and made it seem like it was the easiest thing in the world to get over Sherlock, John finally snapped. It didn’t happen as one would suppose from a passionate man like John Watson. There was no yelling, or punches, or tears. Just a clenched jaw and one, icy comment: “Stay away from me for the rest of the evening”  
His stare was enough to make Sherlock realize what he had just done. Something had shifted between them, treating the fragile bond of their relationship. But he hadn’t meant it like that, right? He himself wasn’t even sure anymore! Did he want to hurt John? Why would he ever want to hurt wonderful, strong, beautiful John Watson?!  
As John made his way to the door, Sherlock sprang into action. “John, wait-“He tried to grab the other man’s arm, but the doctor pushed past him forcefully. He pushed the door open, not even paying attention to the concerned-looking Lestrade in the hallway. The detective had precautious given Anderson and Donovan the rest of the evening off, so they were alone on the floor. Better keep those noisy cats away from the domestic clearly taking place in his office. John turned his head, to cast the distressed looking consulting detective another long look.

“I swear to God, I don’t care where you spend your evening, Sherlock. Just stay. Away. From. Me”  
Without another word, he stormed past Lestrade and was gone. Sherlock stood there, simply blinking for around 30 seconds. All his thoughts came to screeching halt when he watched his partner disappear, disappear to get home without him, to have dinner without him, to read Rosie a bed-time story without him, to sleep in their bed without him. No. This is not right. That’s not the correct way to end this argument. No. That’s not the way any day was supposed to end. John always forgave him at the end of the day. They have had fights before, but they always ended them when they cuddled together in bed and John would tell him that it’s ‘okay now’, because they were together and that was the most important part, but now they were NOT together and what if John WOULDN’T cuddle with him or-NO, this is not right.  
Lestrade caught the frantic look in the younger man’s eyes, before said man tried to storm past him, to follow his partner into the night. Lestrade caught his sleeve and pulled him back forcefully. This would be a long evening. Sherlock gave the detective a wild look, as if he was responsible for this mess. Greg was unfazed.  
“I don’t think so”  
“Lestrade, I DEMAND you to let go of me AT ONCE-“  
“Leave him be”  
Sherlock stopped the struggling he had begun. “But-“ the tone in his voice had nothing pompous around it anymore. It was small.  
“He needs some time right now” Lestrade had actually planned on giving Sherlock the lecture he so very well deserved, but rejected the idea when he saw the shattered look on his face. It instantly reminded him of a dark time all these years ago; a time filled with struggles and pain and addiction and withdrawals. He had never again seen this amount of vulnerability in these blue-grey eyes. His anger melted a little bit. “C’mon.” he gently pushed Sherlock back into his office. He, surprisingly, wasn’t met with much of a resistance.

 

Two hours later, Sherlock successfully put his mask of cold indifference back on. Lestrade had given him some cold case files to entertain himself with, while he finished some long overdue paperwork. Lestrade actually planned on giving these files Sherlock as a birthday present, but he guessed now was an adequate time for them. Anything to make this big brain focus its attention on something else than panicking. Of course, technically it wasn’t his division to pay the consulting detective company, but… he was fond of the eccentric genius. And tonight, was the closest resemblance to a danger night they’ve had since John had entered the picture. And if there was one thing that Gregory Lestrade would not allow was a possible drug relapse because these two didn’t resolve their troubles. Lestrade was pretty sure Sherlock saw through his little façade, but seemed to appreciate the effort. Or at least the detective told himself that, while Sherlock quietly flipped the pages of his third file.  
The sound of a phone startled both of them. Greg checked the message quickly, without missing the disappointed look on Sherlock’s face. ‘I’ve informed Dr. Watson of your heroic efforts. -MH’  
He had to smile a little bit. Ever since he got Sherlock over the drugs, him and the older Holmes brother were on friendly terms; Greg would even go as far as to call them some sort of friends (you never know with a Holmes) and sometimes he would catch himself flirting a little bit. He couldn’t help himself. There was something about the politician that he found attractive.  
‘Thanks, I guess? -GL’  
‘And I’m thankful, too. It’s good to know he has a trusted companion on Danger nights. -MH’ However the politician knew about the whole situation was beyond Greg, but he long ago stopped questioning the ways of the Holmes brothers. They simply knew everything, except for how to interact with other human beings.  
‘No problem- GL’  
“Stop smiling like that, it’s sickening” Greg looked up from his phone and was met with Sherlock’s calculating stare, since his focus shifted from the files to the detective. Greg gave him a wide toothy smile in reply.  
“Well, aren’t you delightful today?”  
Some seconds of silence. A frustrated hum. “Just ask her out”  
“Excuse me?” Sherlock waved with his hand, but he felt his focus shift away from the case to matters of to heart, and to his argument with John.  
“Whoever you’re texting with” he barked irritated. “You’re clearly emotionally invested, but your hesitation to type out a reply indicates that you haven’t made a move yet, you’re nervous and fear rejection” Greg blinked at him for some seconds. “So just ask her out and be done with it, your emotional turmoil is getting on my nerves”  
“For the record, your attitude is getting on my nerves. And actually, I was texting your brother” Sherlock stared at him blankly.  
“Shall I tell him you say ‘hi’?”  
“Fuck off”

They fell into silence again. Greg considered following Sherlock’s advice, but found that now was not the time, nor the situation to act on his romantic fantasies. Not with a brooding detective sitting on the sleazy old leather sofa in his office, presumably one straw away from throwing a massive fit. Greg would be glad, if it was just a fit, actually. A fit he could handle. But he knew how Sherlock could be: Self-destructive to the point of a mental breakdown.  
“I need a cigarette” Aaaand there it was.  
“We quit, remember?”  
“I don’t care”  
“I’m not giving you cigarettes, Sherlock” The young man gave him what supposedly was his ‘intimidating’ glare, but his otherwise rather pitiful posture destroyed the effect he hoped to create. He just looked a little lost, not at all like ‘I am smarter than anyone in this building’ Sherlock Holmes. He had more resemblance of the ‘I really cannot cope with the world right now, please just give me my damn drugs; please just let me escape’ version. Greg pushed these thoughts back in the dark corner of his mind where they belonged and stood up with a heavy sigh.  
“I’m getting us a coffee” he informed Sherlock. All he got was an exasperated sigh.  
“I don’t want a fucking coffee. You might be incredibly stupid, but even your attention spawn can’t be so short that-“  
And Greg closed the door behind him, and let out the breath he had been holding. The peace was fun while it lasted.

When the DI returned with two steaming mugs of terrible coffee, Sherlock abandoned his position on the couch and the case files in favour of pacing the room in long strides; muttering to himself while absent-mindedly rubbing the sleeve of his left arm (old habits die hard, Greg supposed). He looked frantic, panicked even, and Greg just knew an outbreak was inevitable.  
“Your coffee”  
Sherlock stopped the pacing right in front of the detective. There was a wild look in his eyes, but Greg didn’t miss the spark of vulnerability underneath. Sherlock was clearly bothered more than he let on. And who would blame him? The man had zero experience when it came to relationships. And John was a good one, John was a keeper. Sherlock, apparently, was rather crap at keeping.  
“I. Don’t. Want. A. GODFORSAKEN. Coffee!” He started hissing, but worked himself into a full scream at the end.  
Within another second, he pulled the ceramic mug out of the detective's hand and threw it forcefully against a wall. It shattered in a dozen pieces and coated the floor with awful brown goo. Well, that was quicker than anticipated.  
Greg stared at the mess for some seconds with a patient resignation, before he turned to look at the other mess in the room. Sherlock had slight down against the wall and was now seated on the floor, knees bend and face buried in his hands. He looked young, so insanely young; it was so easy to forget between the coat and the arrogant demeanour, but Sherlock was so damn insecure most of the time. For some moments, there was silence, except for Sherlock’s hurried breaths.  
Then, quietly: “Greg” It wasn’t the fact that Sherlock used his correct name, he knew that the detective knew it and was just messing with him most of the time; it was the vulnerable tone that made Greg’s heart clench a little. It was easy to forget over his general well… Sherlock-ness, but Greg cared about this damn idiot.  
“I have to go home” He looked up, his eyes pleading. “Please”  
The detective sighed heavily and let himself slump down next to Sherlock. “Sorry, mate. It’s not my decision”  
“But” Sherlock bit his lip, fumbled with his hands. “It’s past Rosie’s bedtime; but she needs her bedtime story and John just can’t do the voices right. I have to go home”  
Somehow, Greg’s throat suddenly felt very dry and he felt the desire to punch every person on the planet who ever dared to call this man a ‘machine’ or ‘heartless’.  
“I’m sure they’ll be fine” his voice was rough with a fond adoration for the genius next to him. Sherlock Holmes really was something else. Sherlock eyed his hands thoughtfully.  
“I didn’t even kiss her goodnight. And we didn’t have a cuddle, because the case took up all of my time” He sighed, heavily.  
“It’s kinda tough juggling a family and the work we do” Greg remarked, reminded of the time when his girls were still young and all the evenings in the office during which he missed them dearly.  
Sherlock nodded soberly, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes tightly. “I’m messing everything up”  
Greg sighed. The increased desperation in Sherlock’s voice was tugging at his heartstrings. “Rows happen. That’s part of the deal”  
Sherlock shook his head forcefully. “It’s never…been like this” He exhaled shakily.

For some seconds, Sherlock’s heavy breathing and the ticking of the clock were the only sounds in the room. Greg subtly checked his watch. It was close to 11; almost 4 hours since John stormed off to Baker Street. Part of Greg was impressed by the doctor’s stubbornness. Another part of him wasn’t surprised. Sherlock’s fall would always remain a sore spot for his friend; and even though Greg did a great deal to help him in the first year after Sherlock’s death, they never talked about this dark period in John’s life. It sort of became the elephant in the room for everyone who had been involved. Sherlock was, as Greg guessed, oblivious to the damage his absence had done. He sighed. John stopped talking about it. Even though it might have been important to talk with Sherlock about it. Of-fucking-course he didn’t.  
“Greg?”  
“Sherlock?”  
“Do you think he’ll leave me?” The detective stared at the hunched-over form of the so-called ‘sociopath of Scotland Yard’ and asked himself once again how he somehow managed to gain the trust of this peculiar human being. Sherlock loathed talking about emotions. Yet here they were, sitting their butts flat on the hard floor and pouring their hearts out. The situation was paradox at least, if not simply ridiculous.  
Greg considered his next move. The chance of the doctor ending the relationship over a rude comment seemed highly unlikely. But something had been triggered and it was not entirely unlikely that this whole thing ended up with someone getting hurt. Greg didn’t really want to mingle… but Sherlock deserved to know. Sherlock, in a weird Holmes kind of way, was his friend, too. So, he deserved to know with what he was dealing here.  
“I don’t think so” he answered gently. The younger man finally took his hands away from his eyes. They were huge and watery.  
“How would you know?”  
Greg swallowed around the lump in his throat. Yep, here goes nothing. “Sherlock, listen. When you were gone-“ the young man made a face, but the DI dismissed any snide remarks with a sharp glare. “John was…… not fine” Well, that was the understatement of the century. “He had a hard time…. Getting over you. We all had, but John…” Some unwilling memories pushed themselves into his mind.

 

_“John? John, I’m coming in …. You look pale, mate. Have you eaten today?... C’mon, we’ll get you a nice meal and a good night’s sleep.”_  
_“I don’t want to eat”_  
_“But you have to”_  
_“I don’t matter anymore. This… all of this doesn’t matter anymore”_  
_“…Don’t say that”_  
_“He’s gone, Greg.”_  
_“…”_  
_“I wish I was gone, too”_

 

Sherlock must have sense the shift in the mood, because when the DI managed to shake the thoughts away, he was watching him intently, quietly analysing. The DI exhaled snakingly and rubbed his face.  
“He was… look, I probably shouldn’t tell you that, but since you two seem so incredibly ignorant when it comes to talking about things which are actually important… we did all that we can…to stop him from…following you”  
It took a split-second for the genius’ brain to wrap around the meaning of those words. Greg could pinpoint the exact second when realization dawned on him. Sherlock’s expression crumbled. “What?” He gulped in some air.  
“But….” He clearly seemed out of depth there. “But I thought-“  
“You were wrong”  
Greg gave Sherlock a moment to compose himself. The detective nodded, finally getting it. His whole body suddenly seemed to shake. Taking his pity, Greg placed a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. He couldn’t really blame him from being overwhelmed. He himself felt like someone punched him in the gut.  
“Thank you” Sherlock’s voice was tight with a heavy emotion.  
“John’s my friend” It sounded more like a defence than a reasoning. Seems like Greg had some unresolved issues concerning the Fall. They, however, could wait until he had some quiet time to himself.  
“He won’t leave you, Sherlock. But you” he sighed. Maybe this was the chance to finally give him a lecture to get through his thick scull. “the things you do… the stupid, careless, dangerous things, they scare him.”  
“I…I..I didn’t…” He sucked in a sharp breath. Greg felt almost bad for exposing the vulnerable genius to all these complex emotions.  
“I know” A pause. “He knows, too”  
He started drawing small circles on Sherlock’s back, the same soothing technique he used when the young man was shaking and vomiting through his drug withdrawal on his couch. “The work we do, you do for the most part” he paused to give Sherlock a small appreciating smile. The praise went unnoticed. “Is important. Very important, in fact. We keep this crazy world at bay. But family- Rosie and John and your brother- is what’s left at the end of the day. It’s what’s worth returning home to” Sherlock nodded vigorously, while looking like he might start to bawl at any given second.  
“I…I returned”  
“But now you keep running away”  
Sherlock let out a pained groan and buried his face in his knees, closing himself in as far as possible. There were a few moments of silence and Greg thought awkwardly about what he was going to do if Sherlock actually had an emotional breakdown on his office carpet.

The sudden noise of Sherlock’s text alert made them both jump in surprise. The genius fumbled the device hurried out of his trouser pocket, fingers shaking and clumsy, almost dropping it twice. The screen lighting up his pale face and Greg took the moment of distraction to have a deep breath. Sherlock read the message once, twice, three times before the words made sense to him. He let out a long, relieved exhale.  
“Good news?”  
Instead of answering, Sherlock turned the phone for the DI to read. ‘Come home. -JW’  
It felt like a heavy weight was lifted from his shoulders. He himself worried for a second there when John carried the silent treatment on for over four hours. But it gave him time to put Sherlock into the picture; enough for them to finally be honest with one another. They better be. Or else he’d end up punching both of them in the face. Probably wouldn’t be necessary, though. Those idiots would work it out. They always did in the end.  
Greg smiled fondly at the young man, as he was stumbling to his feet in a hurry to get home. Already in the doorframe, Sherlock turned once more and gave the inspector a tiny, but genuine smile. “Thank you, Greg”  
Taken aback by the open display of gratitude, Greg stumbled a little over his own tongue. “You’re welcome, Sherlock”.  
Without another word, the particular man was gone, coat billowing behind him dramatically. Greg suppressed an eyeroll. Always the dramatic, that Sherlock Holmes. He considered his next moves, while idly staying on the floor a little bit longer. Just as he was about to mentally prepare himself for some greasy takeaway and a lonely night in front of the telly, his phone made a noise. Unlocking it, he started to smile like an idiot at the messenger id.  
‘If you’re amendable, I’d very much like to repay you for your troubles. Dinner sounds suitable? -MH’.  
Greg read the message again and couldn’t ignore the giddy feeling it was giving him in the pit of his stomach. Maybe… Sherlock was right. Maybe making a move wasn’t the worst idea.  
His heart almost missed a beat when he typed out a reply: ‘I’d love to. -GL’  
Not even 10 seconds later, his screen flashed with another message by the politician: ‘My car will be at Scotland Yard in 5 minutes. -MH’.  
Greg sighed happily, while he pushed himself into a standing position. He took his time to check his hair with his camera app, feeling warm excitement bubble in his veins. Turns out this evening wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

 

John had been fuming on the whole way back to Baker Street. He knew Sherlock didn’t really mean it, but still, the so-called ‘sociopathy’ was no excuse for being an arse all the time. Alright. Most of the time. John continued to fume for around an hour; aimlessly pottering around the flat, cooking dinner angrily, eating with a tight smile in Rosie’s direction. His daughter, although she was only a little girl, sensed the sour mood her father was in and did all that she could to cheer him up (mostly making silly faces and surprising him with hugs; it worked better than John would ever admit). After he tucked Rosie in and she slept safe and very soundly in the nursery (formerly known as ‘John’s bedroom’), John sat down on the couch.  
Another two hours had passed, and it was now nearing ten. Staring off into nothing for an undefined amount of time, the doctor realize that he wasn’t angry anymore. In fact, he felt a little bit guilty (he didn’t need to scream at Sherlock like that) and a great deal of loneliness (the quietness of the flat reminded him of a time he’d rather not remember). It was the first evening they spend separated since Sherlock had surprised him with a kiss and changed their lives. It was a weird feeling, being alone in the late hours of the evening; without the silent companionship, without another warm presence, without the pleasant rumble of a deep baritone voice. John sighed. Shook his head. Sighed again. Debated pouring himself a finger of whiskey. Vowed against it, got up anyway to get the bottle. Another half an hour passed with John deeply buried in his own thoughts, sipping the burning liquor from time to time. Finally, he let out a long exhale that sounded way too loud in the quiet flat, and fetched his phone from the coffee table.  
A little over four hours were far enough time to let Sherlock suffer. He actually felt quite sorry for ignoring him, but he couldn’t help himself. He knew Sherlock was safe, thanks to Mycroft and Greg, so it was good to have a little time to clear his own head. Although, if he was being honest, he only spent around 50% being irritated / working himself in a mood, and 50% missing Sherlock terribly. Not really a success, huh?

 

Only 15 minutes after he send the message, the front door softly creaked and hurried steps stumbled up the stairs. John had to close his eyes, because the intensity of the relief he felt when Sherlock unlocked the door to the flat overwhelmed him a little bit.  
The genius stopped abruptly in the doorframe, suddenly sheepish and shy; with his cheeks flushed rosy from running and his hair mussed from running his hands through it in a jerky fashion. The doctor faced the door, but stayed in his sitting position, just eying his partner over for a long minute. Sherlock’s chest heaved heavily with effort, his whole frame radiating nervous energy. The silence stretched awkwardly, neither of them knowing where to begin or how.  
It was John who broke the silence first, with a soft “I’m glad you’re here”; but it was Sherlock who closed the distance between them, no longer rooted to the spot, but eager and fast, clinging to John’s sitting frame, basically sitting on his lap. John let out a surprised yelp, when the detective forcefully buried his face in the junction of the doctor’s throat and collarbone.  
He inhaled the familiar smell of his partner, calming his racing heart. He did nothing but breathe on John for at least two minutes, while John instinctively ran a soothing hand through the black curls on the nape of Sherlock’s neck.  
“Are you…. alright?” he asked tentatively. He had Sherlock expected to throw a fit, or sulk, or snap at him; he sure as hell didn’t anticipate to find him in a state of emotional turmoil.  
“I’m sorry” came the wet reply against his skin, voice heavy with a strong emotion that made John’s pulse pick up speed. “I’m so sorry”  
Not ever, and ever means ever since he had known this madman, had he heard him speak with such an amount of vulnerability and regret. John swallowed around the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. He couldn’t help but feel like this wasn’t only about the comment anymore.  
“I’m not mad anymore” he whispered, pushing his cheek against the nest of hair. “I’m sorry I ignored you”, he added, while rapidly blinking the gathering wetness in his eyes away. He would not become an emotional sod over a heartfelt apology; he would not!  
Sherlock shook his head vigorously, but kept his face pushed against the soft patch of skin peeking out from the doctor’s collar.  
“I don’t deserve you” he rumbled snakingly, voice dissolving in hurried breaths which made John question whether the younger man had started crying. Now, that would be another first.  
The doctor felt moved by the affection hiding behind the statement, but wrinkled his nose at its self-depriving character. It wasn’t like the arrogant, brilliant genius he knew and.. “Nonsense” he mumbled, lifting Sherlock’s chin a little, to force the younger man to look at him. The expression in Sherlock’s eyes made his breath hitch a little and his brain go offline.  
“I was just angry, Sherlock” he sighed, smoothing the scrunched-up worry lines on Sherlock’s forehead. “You keep leaving me behind –“  
“I won’t do it again, I promise!” the detective interrupted him loudly, desperation written all over his face. John normally would second-guess the honesty of this statement; Sherlock was an extraordinary liar, so much so that he didn’t even realize he made a promise he couldn’t keep. But something was… different about this exclamation. Something big and complex, something which made John’s heart swell with fondness for the man in his arms.  
“I know you don’t mean it. The Work dominates your mind, I get it” He nudged Sherlock playfully in the side, hoping to ease the sudden heaviness of the mood. He wasn’t fully sure what was going on, but it felt big and severe and overwhelming. “I’d just be happy if me and Rosie could have a little room in there, too”  
Sherlock’s face distorted in an expression that was almost pained, before he slammed is face back against John’s throat and let out one, tiny, heart-breaking sob. Slightly panicked by this turn of events, John tightening his grip around Sherlock, frantically analysing which part of his statement could have made the genius this upset.  
“Sherlock? Sherlock- are you okay?”  
“I…I’m sorry I hurt you... I’m so sorry…I..I…” John kissed the crown of the younger man’s head, suddenly getting what the whole turmoil seemed to be about. He took a shaking breath  
“Greg told you…. Right?” he asked with a calmness that he didn’t feel. The was the tiniest nod against his collar.  
John closed his eyes, trying to calm down his suddenly racing pulse. He knew he should been angry at Greg for mingling. But… he couldn’t bring himself to be. Instead, he felt a lead lift up his chest, as his only, but most well-kept secret had been unravelled. He had been too much of a coward to address the issue himself, but now that it was out in the open… There was a small silence, awkwardly stretching between them.  
What does one say in such a ridiculous situation? ‘Yes, I’ve been in a really bad place because you died- but hey! You’re back. Doesn’t matter anymore. I was just a little upset because you thought it had been easy for me and mentioned my dead wife’ God, what has his life come to?! “Sherlock-“  
“I love you”  
John stopped dead in his tracks, heart jumping in his throat. They had been tiptoeing around the ’L’-word for a while, neither of them mustering the courage to actually say it. John had been careful, he had been afraid, he didn’t really trust himself or Sherlock to manage the implications of this simple phrase. There were the secrets and the Work as the most important priority in Sherlock’s life, and the right moment was never there, so they blatantly ignored it. Until now. Now Sherlock -mad, insufferable, wonderful Sherlock - bravely says it, in the least expected of unexpected moments.  
“You…what?”  
“I never say what’s most important, alright? I don’t talk about my…. Emotions or anything regarding them. It’s not easy. I despise…. The vulnerability. The mess. The anticipation” The genius took a deep breath, suddenly appearing a little bit more like his normal self, flushing slightly at the embarrassing display of weakness.  
“But I love you. And I love Rosie. And I love our… family. You’re more important than... work. You… saved my life. You keep saving my life over and over again and I can’t… live without you. I’m sorry that my actions…. Caused you to doubt the sincerity of my emotions. I will never… again make you feel so…. helpless”  
Sherlock peaked up from his safe spot against John’s pulse point to shyly gauge his partner’s reaction.  
John, for his part, felt like someone punched him right in the face, in the best kind of ways. Everything was tingly and warm, relief mixed with affection and a deep fondness bloomed in his chest, seeping through every pore. Finally. Something… had always been missing, something… more…something big. Something he now saw in the stormy blue eyes of his mad genius. He bit his lower lip, suddenly overcome by a deep desire to cry, and laugh, and dance, and kiss Sherlock until they were exhausted and giddy. He coughed clumsily, to overplay the small noise escaping his throat.  
Sherlock meanwhile, a little confused by the lack of response, already built an emergency plan in case John didn’t want to hear about his silly little emotions. Just as he was about to backtrack, two warm palms encircled his cheeks and a pair of dry, but soft lips covered his own. The detective melted in the contact, gently putting more pressure in the kiss.  
John parted them after some seconds, only to smile and whisper hoarsely against the younger man’s lips: “Thank you. God, Sherlock, thank you so much” His voice broke at the last syllable, as a he laughed like he hadn’t laughed in months, while tears streamed down his face. In a surge of joy, he hugged the lanky detective against his chest tightly, covering his whole face with butterfly kisses.  
“I love you, too. You have no idea how much I love you”  
Sherlock sniffed, once again overcome by a strong wave of emotion. “I promise I won’t run off carelessly again” he spluttered hurriedly. John nodded enthusiastically, without a doubt of the sincerity. Had anyone told him that his day would end up with two arms full of consulting detective, both sniffling and giggling like fucking idiots because they finally managed to confess their love for each other, he’d probably flipped them off. Yet, here they were- a mess of emotions and tears and kisses.

 

It was Sherlock to part the hug first, suddenly very determined to get to his feet.  
“Excuse me for a second” he mumbled with his smooth baritone voice laced with fondness, while he rubbed his slightly wet eyes with the back of his hand. “There’s something I have to do”  
Without another word, he hurried up the stairs to the nursery. Curiously and still a bit wobbly-legged, John followed some steps behind. His heart made an almost painful jump as he watched Sherlock bend over his daughter – their daughter – to give her silent smooch on the forehead. The little girl smiled in her sleep, but didn’t stir or wake. Sherlock turned to John standing in the doorframe, with a beaming smile, lighting up his whole face. John couldn’t help but return it, before he took the detective’s hand gently in his, to lead him downstairs to their shared bedroom.

 

Another hour of sweet words and gentle touches later, they laid in bed, closely cuddled together; Sherlock’s body partially splayed over John’s and John’s arms encircling his waist in a secure embrace. Just as the doctor was dozing off, Sherlock began to draw small circles on John’s t-shirt clad chest.  
“I’ve been thinking, the countryside” he mumbled low.  
“Hm?” John asked, without opening his eyes.  
Sherlock swallowed audibly and concentrated very hard on the circling motion of his fingers. “Once ... you know, Rosie’s out of the house. Once we’ve retired” he explained hurriedly, as if embarrassed of thinking about their future together.  
John opened his eyes, to look down at Sherlock in surprise. Of course, he had thought about it. Or rather… daydreamed about it. It seemed highly unlikely, thinking about Sherlock ever wanting to retire, let alone grow old with ordinary John Watson. Almost impossible. A new surge of affection welled up in his chest.  
“Or by the sea. One of those romantic land houses you secretly adore” He stopped the motion and raised his eyes shyly. The fond smile his doctor gave him was enough to make his heart do funny things in his chest. As John cupped his cheek and just continued to smile at him, Sherlock suddenly felt nervous and bit his lip.  
“I could keep bees” he continued, cursing himself for rambling, but unable to stop the embarrassing stream of words to escape his lips. “You could write mystery novels”.  
He closed his mouth with a snap, blushing hotly. John laughed lightly, cradling his partner’s head securely, to press a light kiss against the pointy tip of his nose.  
“I’d love to”.

**Author's Note:**

> Well... this was different. I'm sure some of you are familiar with the other parts of this series and surely realized the shift in the mood of this one. I just felt like they needed to resolve some issues, but from now on, it'll primarily be fluffy cute Parentlock :)
> 
> Also, I thought I might explore some Mystrade (haven't written it before) with this series, because I think they'd fit great in the little Baker Street family. Tell me what you think, would you like these two dorks getting involved?
> 
> If you want to increase the Reichenbach Feels, I recommoned listening to the song I heard while writing it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ZwCu8u0bzA (Lana del Rey: Dark Paradise).
> 
> I'll try to upload to this regularily, like once a month if I have the time. Be patient with me! :) Also: I suck at titles, sorry. Probably suck at formatting too *shrugs* 
> 
> Kudos, Comments and Bookmarks are very well appreciated! <3 <3


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